


tore my shirt to stop you bleeding (but nothing ever stops you leaving)

by dewdrops



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Halloween, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-11 01:18:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16465943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dewdrops/pseuds/dewdrops
Summary: One of them’s holding a cup of something dark red. His hair’s slicked back, but some unruly strands fall into his eyes as he plays a drinking game that seems to be specific to him and his friends.Isak can’t understand what the hell it is he’s trying to do, but he must do something right, because his friends cheer and he smiles. He’s wearing plastic fangs that glow like the galaxy stickers Isak had plastered to his ceiling when he was younger.He’d bury himself in pillows beneath the stickers, reading about starburst galaxies; about how they form stars at ten times the rate of a regular galaxy.The guy’s looking at him.***Or, Even's a vampire.





	1. i'll only hurt you if you let me

**Author's Note:**

> originally wanted to write dorky vampire even for halloween, but things got a bit sad. title from billie eilish's "when the party's over".

Isak remembers Halloween. 

He remembers the black and the orange, the mismatched costumes parents would sew their kids into. He remembers the scary movies that would seldom stay on the TV for more than ten minutes before one of his parents would turn the channel. 

He remembers it as he trudges up the patio, a pit forming in his stomach. 

He’s nervous. He thinks it might be because he’s alone, or because he hasn’t told anyone where he is. Or, he hasn’t had enough to drink. Or, maybe, he just feels guilty. 

Wherever the sensation curdling his stomach comes from, it recognizes the telltale sounds of a house party and grows. Using the heavy bass and throngs of people standing near the doorway as fuel, it grows and grows and grows. 

There’s more costumes than he’d thought. There’s a superhero with coiffed hair crumpled at the bottom of the staircase, a devil with red horns and a tail holding a full bottle of Jameson’s. 

Isak’s not wearing a costume. Not tonight. 

He keeps his eyes peeled for Eva, fingers wound tightly around his phone. The party hasn’t deteriorated into complete mayhem yet, so he’s able to easily comb the kitchen before moving on to the living room. 

It’s here he spots her slumped on a chair, on the receiving end of what could hardly be considered a lap dance from a giant tampon. 

He slips out of the room before she sees him. 

There’s a small bathroom down the hall, but he doesn’t realize it isn’t empty until it’s too late. There’s a gaggle of girls all dressed as cats tucked behind the door, fixing their ears in the vanity. One of them’s making eye contact with his reflection before he’s able to escape unscathed. 

She removes the cigarette from her purple lips. “What’re you supposed to be?” 

He looks down at the jeans he’s been in all day and then back up at the girl. He’s wearing a hat he stole from Jonas, and he’s reaching for it before he knows what he’s doing. To its own accord, his hand finds the brim of the hat and turns it until it’s behind his head. “A rapper,” he says. 

She smiles, but he doesn’t know why. “I see.” She turns so she’s resting her back on the sink, holding her smoke out to him. 

He shakes his head, retreating back into the hallway. The smell of smoke follows him to the living room, and his lungs feel thick with it. He’s scoping the room out for Eva, wondering how the night would turn out if he were to come clean to her. He hasn’t done anything yet that’s entirely unforgivable, but she’d still be angry. She’d be angry, and Jonas would be angry. Jonas would be angry and _disgusted_ , and then what would he do? 

He’s panicking when he finds Eva, and he can’t watch her for more than a few seconds. 

His eyes land on a group of guys standing by the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. 

One of them’s holding a cup of something dark red. His hair’s slicked back, but some unruly strands fall into his eyes as he plays a drinking game that seems to be specific to him and his friends.

Isak can’t understand what the hell it is he’s trying to do, but he must do something right, because his friends cheer and he smiles. He’s wearing plastic fangs that glow like the galaxy stickers Isak had plastered to his ceiling when he was younger. 

He’d bury himself in pillows beneath the stickers, reading about starburst galaxies; about how they form stars at ten times the rate of a regular galaxy. 

The guy’s looking at him. 

Isak isn’t sure what to do, so he leaves. He thinks he might be starting to understand what’s going on with his mom and dad. 

The kitchen is empty. It’s weird, but he does’t question it. 

Some of the tension leaves his shoulders as he bypasses the sickly looking green liquid sitting in a bowl on the counter, instead opting for a beer. He’s reaching for the coldest one when he realizes someone’s standing behind him, apparently too impatient to wait somewhere else for their turn in the fridge. 

Isak settles on the beer and slams the door shut in spite before spinning around to shove his way past the douche bag. 

He doesn’t make it very far, because the guy with the fake teeth doesn’t seem interested in the fridge. “Hi.” His voice is garbled by the teeth. “Nice costume.” 

The guy has blue eyes. They’re clear, and Isak would never have guessed he had a joint tucked behind his left ear if he didn’t have a joint tucked behind his left ear. 

He must see Isak eyeing it, because he pinches it between his fingers and says, “Come on.” 

The patio’s a stark contrast to the party. It’s dark, quiet. 

Isak’s skin is pebbling beneath his hoodie, and he can’t remember this night ever being so cold. 

The guy with the fangs is sitting on the stairs, his arms resting on his knees. He’s already puffing on the joint, and Isak isn’t entirely uninterested in that familiar smell. Maybe he can justify sabotaging his own espionage for some good weed. 

He accepts the joint when it’s passed to him and he’s got it between his lips when the guy asks, “So, what exactly are you supposed to be?” 

Smoke clouds Isak’s vision, and his response to the girl in the bathroom suddenly seems insufficient. 

Luckily, the guy doesn't let the conversation lapse into silence so soon. He says, “Let me guess.” He pauses, and Isak watches him drum his forefinger against his knee. “Oh, is it Mark Wahlberg?” 

“Who?” 

The guy makes a noise in the back of his throat. He looks affronted, the ghost of a smile playing on his laps. He isn’t wearing the fangs anymore. “Who?” he repeats, incredulous. “You don’t know Mark Wahlberg?” 

Isak’s blinks, his eyes already getting teary from the smoke. “I do.” 

“Sure.” The guy quirks an eyebrow, taking the joint back. 

“I do,” Isak laments, because he _does_. He has memories stowed away of muscles stretched taut against skin and backwards caps, of quickly muting his volume and minimizing his tab. 

“Name a movie.” 

Isak’s eyes flit to his feet, hoping the light is too dim to detect the blood colouring his skin. “I only know the music video.” 

“What?” The guy laughs, but it isn't malicious. “You’ve never seen Boogie Nights? The Basketball Diaries?” 

Isak shakes his head. 

“Wow.” The guy sighs heavily, as though Isak’s just broken some bad news to him. He puffs on the joint, and then he says, “It _is_ a good music video, to be fair.” 

He doesn’t look like he’s making fun of Isak, his honesty written into the folds of skin at the corners of his eyes when he smiles. It isn’t the first time Isak’s fallen ill at the hands of a contagious smile, resting his chin in his palm and pressing his fingers over his lips in attempt to stave it off. 

They sit quietly for a little while, and then the guy passes him the joint. 

Isak looks at him as does, at the smudged makeup beneath his eyes and the black collared shirt. “And you’re supposed to be Edward Cullen?” 

The guy snorts softly. “That wasn’t really the intent.” His canine teeth are sharp, glistening as he smiles. 

Isak coughs into his fist. “What school do you go to?” 

Before the guy can answer, the front door flies open. “Even,” says an exasperated voice from behind them. 

There’s only the two of them out there, and the guy turns his head quickly. His name’s Even, and he’s staring at the person behind them like he’s been caught off guard. “What’s going on?” 

Isak turns to see one of the friends Even had been standing with earlier, brown hair in his eyes. He might be wearing a costume, but Isak couldn’t say for sure. “Elias has started drinking,” the guy announces. It doesn’t sound like a good thing. “We figured we'd head out now before things get out of hand.” 

It goes over Isak’s head, but Even looks like he understands. He sinks his pointy teeth into his lower lip, eyes flitting to Isak. “I better go,” he says. 

Isak nods, offering him the joint. 

Even stands up and flashes him another smile. “You can keep it,” he says. “Bye, Isak.” 

“See you.” Isak watches him leave. 

It’s only when the door closes and Isak’s alone that he realizes he’d never told him his name. 

 

☆

 

There’s sweat on the back of his neck. It clings to his hair, rolling down the strands and onto the collar of his shirt. 

The room’s full of rogue politicians, witches, pirates, and Harley Quinns. A total of four Harley Quinns, he counts. 

And then it changes. One second, the four Harley Quinns are all standing within two meters of each other, and, the next, they’re gone. Everyone else is gone, too. 

He’s surveying the empty room when a sharp pain blossoms on the side of his neck. It’s like he’s being stuck with something indistinguishable; something sharp. The nerves in the area all fire at once, and he should want for nothing more than to tear himself away from the source of the pain. 

He should, but he doesn’t. He feels fingers on the backs of his arms, keeping him still. They’re gentle, and he could move if he pleased. 

The pain subsides, and it’s replaced with a pressure that isn’t entirely unpleasant. He tilts his head, and, in the process of doing so, catches a flash of blue eyes. 

The feeling makes him lightheaded. When his eyelids droop, he sees plastic fangs at his feet. 

 

☆

 

“You look bad.” 

Those are just the words he wanted to hear from Jonas. 

“Good morning,” he mumbles. 

Even if it’s at his own expense, Isak’s glad Jonas is smiling. “Sorry, man.” 

“Whatever.” His breath forms a cloud when he exhales, early November air turning the water vapor into fog. “I haven’t been getting much sleep lately.” 

The smile falters, and Jonas looks concerned. Something in Isak likes that, too. “Is everything okay at your place?” 

“No, it’s fine,” he says. It’s not, really, but the crumbling of his family life isn’t the only thing keeping him awake these days. “I’ve just been having these weird dreams.” 

“Dreams?” Jonas sounds like he’s trying not to laugh, and Isak curses himself for saying anything in the first place. 

“Forget it.” 

Jonas raises his eyebrows. “Okay.” He laughs, looking around the courtyard. “My room’s still free if you need a quiet place to crash.” 

Isak presses his lips together to stifle a smile. 

 

☆

 

Isak’s late. 

He’s searching through the heap of clothes on his floor for pants, pants, any pants, and he’s thinking that he should’ve set more than one alarm last night. He doesn’t even remember snoozing it. He’d woken from the sound of the front door being slammed at quarter past nine. 

He might make it to his third class on time. If he can find pants. 

As he waits for the tram, he responds to the texts from Jonas asking where he was. There’s one from Eva, something about how she almost fell asleep in that morning’s history lesson without him. 

He doesn’t know what to say. 

He’s still thinking about it, nose in his phone as he boards the tram. He’s coming to the conclusion that there’s nothing he could say to Eva that would make himself feel any better when he hears a familiar voice. 

“Hey.” 

Isak holds his phone against his chest — it’s the thing he’d used to comb various social media platforms for the guy that’s standing right in front of him. “Hey,” he says. 

Even’s Instagram had been private, but his Facebook revealed some minute details. What school he went to, his affinity for film. They had a mutual friend in Sana, for whatever reason. 

In his late night research, he thought he’d been preparing for something that would never happen. 

“Late for school?” 

Isak furrows his eyebrows. “How’d you know?” 

Even lifts his wrist to look at his watch. “It’s almost ten,” he says. “Everyone’s late for school when they’re on a tram at ten. I would know.” 

Isak eyes the bag hanging off his shoulders, and he finds himself wondering what kind of books are in there. “Can you read minds or something?” 

Even laughs. “Edward Cullen.” 

The tram's travelling at 50 kilometres per hour, but it doesn't feel like it. It feels still, like he's in the slow motion sequence of some cinematic movie. He watches the street pass outside the window, listens to the thud of his traitorous heart. 

Even’s watching him, eyebrows raised. “Late night?” 

So late his house was actually quiet by the time he’d fallen asleep. “Yeah.” He laughs under his breath, like he’d spent his night doing anything other than continuously turning his pillow onto the cooler side and pressing his earphones deeper into his ears. 

“I was thinking of stopping off for some coffee. Join me?” 

It wouldn’t make sense to agree. Not only would it make him more late, but he never drinks coffee. “Okay.” 

He recognizes how weird it is that he’s getting coffee with someone he hardly knows when he should be in class. This recognition doesn’t seem to make it all the way to his legs, which move quickly to keep pace with Even as they walk down the side of the street. 

They come to a halt when Even does. “Fuck,” Even says. “I forgot I don’t have any cash on me.” 

Isak shrugs. “I can get it.” 

Even shakes his head. “No need.” He starts to walk before he explains where he’s going. “My place is close. I can make us coffee.” 

And that’s even _weirder_ , Isak thinks. 

He follows Even. 

 

☆

 

“Sugar?” 

Even’s stirring coffee into a mug, and Isak’s leaning on his fridge. 

It’s a small kitchen for a small apartment, comfortable in spite of the cold that Even seems impervious to in all of his layers. It’s quiet and clean, which is the opposite of what Isak’s house has been as of late. 

“Sure,” Isak says, daunted by the thought of drinking the black liquid by itself. 

Even puts two spoons of sugar in the cup and looks at Isak. “More?” 

Isak nods. 

Even puts more in, and they stare at the cup as it dissolves. He raises his eyebrows at Isak, dipping the spoon back in the sugar. 

“Go ahead.” 

Even smiles, stirring it into the coffee. “And one more?” 

Isak doesn’t know how much sugar people usually put in their coffee, but he thinks this may be overdoing it. “Two more.” 

“Two more,” Even repeats, smile widening. 

It’s like a liquified candy bar by the time they’re done with it, in the worst way possible. It scalds Isak’s tongue and burns the back of his throat, and he’s left with granules of sugar sticking to his tongue.  
“How is it?” Even asks, as if he doesn’t already know. 

Isak slides the mug towards him. “Terrible.” 

Even lifts the mug and smells it. “It smells good.” 

“No, it’s bad. Try it.” 

“I’ll take your word for it.” Even dumps it down the sink. 

They migrate to Even’s bedroom, which seems to be the only room in the house that’s been lived in. 

“Do you live alone?” 

He doesn’t want to pry into Even’s life, but he wants to know. Wants to know what songs Even likes to play on the guitar hanging from his wall, wants to know if he drew all the comics on his closet. 

Maybe he does want to pry.

He’s looking at posters of 90’s hip hop stars when Even says, “Yeah.” 

“Lucky.” 

Even laughs. “I guess. I don’t mind living with people, but living alone has its perks.” 

“I can imagine.” 

“Using the kitchen at night without pissing anyone off is cool.” Even pauses, and then says, “Ah-ha. Doing this wherever you want is cool, too.” 

Isak turns, his eyes flitting to the joint between Even’s fingers. “Very cool.” 

They end up smoking next to the window, even though they could do it wherever. “Even in the shower,” Even says, letting the flame of his lighter lick the joint. “Could you smoke in the shower?” 

“I don’t think anyone can smoke in the shower.” 

“Funny.” 

“I can’t smoke anywhere in the house.” Isak’s always been hesitant even going home without borrowing a fresh shirt from Jonas after they’d smoked a lot. “My mom would go crazy.” 

Even brings the joint to his lips. “Yeah?” 

“Last time I was drunk, she called my dad and made him come home from work early to talk to me.” 

“What happened?” 

For now, Isak will leave out how scary it’d been to come home to his mom pacing around the house with her fingernails bitten down to the beds. “I can’t remember,” he says. “I fell asleep before he got home.” 

“Wow.” Even smiles, passing him the joint. “Good story.” 

Isak eyes Even through the smoke. “What year are you in?” 

“Third.” 

“Third?” It somehow feels a little more fair that Even goes to another school, knowing he’d only see him around for a year before graduation. “I’m in first.” 

“I didn’t know you were so young.” 

Isak scoffs in indignation. “I’m not.” 

“Clearly.” Even reaches for the joint, eyes gleaming. “Too young for this.” 

Even leans against the window as he smokes. His drawstrings are tied beneath his neck, and he’s looking at Isak with his eyebrows raised like he’s expecting him to say something clever. 

But Isak can’t think of anything clever to say. He can’t collect his thoughts fast enough, every one of them running in opposite directions. “Fuck off.” 

Even’s laugh is loud, the sound waves slotting between the the knobs of Isak’s spine and making themselves at home. The hairs at the back of his neck feel like they do when the wind’s cold against his skin, but the window’s closed. 

They talk. 

They talk about music and school, about their bad attendance and how they’re contributing to it. Under any other circumstances, Isak would probably be bitching about missing lessons, but he can’t seem to mind. Not when Even’s sitting across from him and lazily nodding his head to the beat of the song they’re listening to. 

Isak doesn’t realize how late it’s gotten until someone’s ringing Even’s doorbell and he’s gone to get it. When he’s alone, Isak checks his phone. It’s half past 17, and his screen’s chalked full of texts from Jonas. At this time, they'd usually be getting some food now or he'd be heading home to hole up in his room to do school work. 

He’s not disappointed at the turn of events until he is. 

He’s disappointed when Even reenters his room with a blonde girl attached at his hip. He thinks he’s disappointed when Even introduces her as his girlfriend, but it might be more than that. 

“You’re lucky I grabbed all this for you,” Sonja’s saying to Even, brandishing a notebook from her bag. 

Even kisses her. “What would I do without you?” 

“Fail third year,” Sonja says. “You could at least text me if you’re not going to make it.” 

She tosses the notebook on his bed and drops her bag next to it. Isak’s still sitting on the window cill, eyeing the ground below. 

“I was busy.” Even’s voice is low, and Isak would like to know if it's disappointment that makes your chest feels like it’s ripping in two. 

“Busy smoking? You know it’s not good for you, Even-“ 

He kisses her again, and she seems to lose her train of thought. 

 

☆

 

He doesn’t see Even again. Not even when he’s unintentionally late on Monday, and he’s standing at 10 in the tram with his hands balled into fists. 

Every so often, Even will text him something with no context, and he’ll hardly know how to respond. 

The dreams stop. 

 

☆

 

It’s been two weeks since they’ve talked when Even sends him an address. 

They’ve texted, but the messages are sent hours apart. He’s analyzed Even’s Instagram. It’s chalked full of Even’s boys, the ones he’d been with at the party. Every so often, there’s a picture of intertwined fingers or blond hair, and they’re behind his eyelids whenever he tries to reply to Even’s texts. 

It’s been two weeks since they’ve _really_ talked. 

Isak doesn’t recognize the address, but he reads on Google Maps that it’s only a twenty minute walk. 

Before he can respond, Even invites him to a party at the address on Friday. Not a costume party, so don’t dress as Mark Wahlberg. 

He can’t wipe the smile off his face for the rest of the day. 

Jonas notices. “Is there something in my teeth?” he asks between classes. 

“I can’t tell,” Isak says. 

“What?” 

“I forget what your teeth look like. Do they always have that black stuff on them?” 

Jonas knocks his shoulder into Isak’s. “Fuck you.” 

Isak laughs, checking his phone. 

“Seriously,” Jonas says. “You’ve been smiling at that thing all day.” 

He thinks he’d tell Jonas now if he were brave. He wants to be able to talk to Jonas like Jonas talks to him about Eva, but he’s scared. He doesn’t want to be scared anymore. “What’re you doing Friday?” 

Jonas shrugs. “Whatever you’re doing.” 

 

☆

 

Isak has no idea where they are. 

He’s been making shit up off the fly since Jonas started questioning him about the party, but he’s glaring at his Google Maps as he blindly leads Jonas down the street. 

Once they’re on the right strip of houses, the party’s like a beacon. It’s obnoxious in the midst of a quiet neighbourhood, windows cracked open in November so the music pours out the windows in all its garbled, heavy-bass glory. 

“How did you know about this?” 

He’s glad Jonas is with him, as doubtful as he’s been. He knows Jonas thought he’d back out and they’d end out smoking weed in some park. He’d listen to Jonas rant about how clueless most people are and hold his phone steady as Jonas tried to get the cleanest treflip on film. The night wouldn’t end well for either of them, Jonas arguing over the phone with Eva and Isak wondering why he’d done the things he had. But, they’d be together. 

It’s a night that is most certainly happening in an infinite number of universes. In this one, Isak lies through his teeth, giddy at the thought of Even waiting around on his phone for him. “Some Facebook page.” 

They integrate easily into the party, finding cold booze within minutes of getting in the door. Jonas already has someone else to talk to within ten, and Isak doesn’t even mind. 

“Looking for someone?’ 

Jonas is watching him with his eyebrows raised, and the guy beside him is smiling. He hadn’t even noticed that they’d stopped talking. “No.” It comes out more defensive than he’d meant it to, so he retracts and says, “I’m gonna get another beer.” 

He doesn’t realize how hard he’s actually been looking until he find it. Or, he finds _them_. 

Even and Sonja are standing by the bottom of the staircase, talking. He can’t hear what they’re saying, but they’re standing close enough to one another that Isak’s immediately uncomfortable. 

He flees to the kitchen with a plan to drink as much as possible before he has to confront his own feelings. 

He doesn’t know why he’d expected anything different. Even didn’t care whether he showed or not. 

He’s nursing his forth or fifth beer, trying to stave off his hurt. Maybe it’d be better if he left now, while Even hasn’t seen him and Jonas is still having a good time. It’d be better, but his feet are glued to the floor beside the fridge. 

It has something to do with being sixteen. It has to; the way he craves for something to happen. 

And then something does. 

He hears Even before he sees him, which he figures is how most of their interactions will go. “You came.” 

“I did.” 

Even watches him as he drains the last of his beer. “Having a good time?” 

“Very good.” Isak turns to rifle through the fridge for another bottle. “Do you want one?” 

“I think I’ve had enough.” 

There’s something red in Even’s cup, staining the sides of the styrofoam. Isak remembers Halloween, how he’d been holding a glass in his hand as if it were part of his costume. “What’re you drinking?” he asks. 

Even’s eyes flit to his cup. He’s pale beneath the fluorescent kitchen lights. He always is. “Blood,” he says. 

Isak scoffs into his beer. “Edward Cullen.” 

When Even looks at him, he doesn’t look like he finds it funny. “I should go.” 

It feels like rejection. Isak knows that’s not what it is, but that's what it feels like. He knows the feeling well; it makes him tired in the way he is when he can hardly make it out of bed in the morning after a night of no sleep. “Okay.” 

Even’s still looking at him, lips parted like he wants to say something. 

Isak’s scared to hear what it is, so he does the only thing he knows how to do. He brushes past him with the intention of leaving before either of them can get out another word, but he’s a second shy of the doorway when there’s a pause between songs and Even asks, “Where are you going?” 

Isak doesn’t know if he’s doing right when he slows his pace. Doesn’t know if there is such thing as right. “Home.” 

“What about your mom?” 

“I’ll sneak in.” Still, it makes Isak waver at the doorway; the thought of his mom waiting for him to drunkenly stumble through the front door. 

He can see Even moving closer out of his peripheral vision. “You can crash at mine tonight,” he says. “I’m not far.” 

Isak can’t tell if he’s offering out of pity or just _offering_. “What about Sonja?” 

“What about Sonja?” When Isak turns around, Even has his eyebrows raised. He says, “She doesn’t care if I leave early because I’m tired.” 

There’s no part of that sentence that seems true, but Isak wishes there were. That must be why he agrees. “Whatever.” 

Isak doesn’t see anyone he recognizes on the way to the door. He follows Even through throngs of nameless bodies until they’re out on the patio and Even’s grabbing his bike from where it leans against the brick. 

The street’s flooded with light in spite of the lack of street lamps. 

Isak lets his neck fall back as Even peddles over the cracks in the side of the road. It doesn’t take long to find the moon, swollen in the sky to the point where it’s dulled the light of all of the stars. 

The wind’s cold on his skin, and he’s jealous of how warm Even must be beneath his layers. 

By the time they’ve made it, Even’s phone won’t relent. He has it on silent, but it vibrates after each minute, glowing through his back pocket. 

Even’s trying to unlock his door when he gets a call. 

Isak can’t hear Sonja’s voice on the other end, but he can hear it in Even. He can hear her concern in the way Even insists that he’s fine. “I was just tired,” he says, toeing his shoes off at the front door. 

Isak follows suit, listening as his voice becomes more exasperated. 

“I hardly had anything,” he’s saying, eyes trained on the floor. “It wouldn’t even matter if I did. I don’t need a babysitter.” 

The conversation seems to come to a lull after this, and Even eventually says, “I’m going to sleep.” 

He tells her to have a good night, and Isak wonders if it’s possible to feel the atria and ventricles in your heart open and close. As Even pockets his phone, they’re contracting so hard that it’s painful. “She didn’t sound like she cares at all,” he says. 

Even looks at him, the frown on his face beginning to fade. “Wishful thinking.” 

It’s hardly any warmer in Even’s apartment than it is outside, and he’s searching the wall for a thermostat when he says, “You wish she didn’t care at all?” 

“You’re cold?” 

It’s either a coincidence or the goosebumps on his arms are really as big as they feel. He nods. 

He follows Even down the hall to the thermostat. He feels immediate relief from watching Even turn the temperature up several notches, and even more so when Even goes into his room and returns with a big sweatshirt. 

He’s pulling it over his head when Even says, “I want her to care, but I don’t want her to be my parent. That’s how it’s been the past few months.” 

Isak doesn’t know how he’s meant to react, so he tries to muster of the most neutral response he can think of. “Okay.” 

He’s got his eyes fixated on a hole in Even’s sock, but he thinks Even’s smiling. “Okay,” he says, and it sounds like the conclusion of some longwinded conversation Isak doesn’t remember being a part of. “Are you tired?” 

He’s exhausted. And, at the same time, he’s wired, listening the sound of his own blood in his ears. “A little.” 

“We can watch some Netflix.” 

“Netflix?” Isak laughs, looking up. Even _is_ smiling, lips stretched across his pointy teeth. “Aren’t you a movie snob?” 

Even places a hand over his chest. “Netflix has some good stuff,” he says. “The Office is on there!” 

Isak’s fingers are numb, curled up in the sleeves of Even’s shirt. “The Office is good,” he says, trying to keep his voice level. 

“Of course it is.” Even looks at Isak like he can see inside — like, with only his eyes, he can peel back layers of skin and bone and see all of the chemical signals in his brain that are making him feel like he’s on a rollercoaster that hasn’t been serviced in years. 

They end up on the sofa. 

It’s quiet in Even’s apartment, save for the sound of Dwight’s voice. Isak doesn’t know how many episodes they’ve watched when he feels his eyelids getting heavy. He doesn’t have any idea what time it is, just that all of his thoughts are bleeding into one another and he’s falling asleep. 

 

☆

 

He’s back at the party. 

The same song that was playing when he left is on, but the vocals are drowned out by the bass. It’s the deep, unrelenting kind that reverberates around the room and makes the walls feel like they’re moving. 

It’s endless. He’s sure of it, the faces of the other partygoers blurring together. 

He thinks it’s endless, but then it ends. Or, it pauses. 

It happens at the same time he recognizes someone across the room, the only distinct features in a crowd of people. 

Dim light casts shadows beneath Even’s eyes as he kisses the blonde girl in front of him. There’s no music, but he keeps kissing her. He’s kissing her and kissing her, and then he’s not kissing her. 

He’s biting her neck, and his eyes are open. They find Isak, and Isak feels like he’s been roped into something he’ll never be able to get out of. 

Isak feels something wet on his neck, so he presses his fingers against the skin. They’re glistening with red when he pulls them away. 

 

☆

 

He wakes up to the sound of his own heart pounding in his chest so hard it’s concerning. The TV’s off, and there’s a blanket covering his legs that wasn’t there when he fell asleep. Even is no longer draped over the other end of the sofa. He takes a moment to gather his bearings before he decides he needs some water. 

He runs the tap until it's cold. 

It’s the first time he’s been in Even’s apartment alone. Or, at least, with Even sound asleep in his bedroom some ten meters away. 

Snooping is what Eva would call it, he thinks, when he opens cupboards and brushes his fingers over the planter siting on the window cill. It’s an empty kitchen, and he’s betting on a fridge with little more than a bottle of mustard. 

He opens it. 

There’s a certain dissonance to the way he slowly surveys it, even though what he’s looking at couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than what it is. 

It’s bags of blood, stocked in the side of the fridge where there should be mustard. And barbecue sauce. And anything other than whole blood. He doesn’t want it to be real, searching every inch of the label for something that would assure him it’s a late Halloween prop. 

His mind’s racing when he turns around, trying to formulate a plan that would get him out of the house without waking Even. 

Even foils it before it’s even formed. He’s standing by the entrance of the kitchen. 

He looks distraught, his eyes trained on the ground. His lips are parted, stained red from what he’d been drinking at the party. 

It was blood. The realization is accompanied by a wave of nausea. “I’m going home.” 

He expects Even to challenge him, but he just says, “Okay.” His eyes flicker to Isak’s face, and he looks sad. “Are you going to call the police?” 

Isak’s never been more confused, and he’s _been_ confused. “What the fuck, Even?” 

Even looks like he’s been slapped in the face. It’s ridiculous, but it makes a part of Isak want to apologize for finding blood in his fridge. “Can you read something before you leave?” 

“What?” 

Even holds his phone, arm outstretched. He’s looking at the floor again. 

Isak watches the phone like it might explode, trying to quell his own fear. He waits a minute, and, when it proves to be safe, takes it from Even’s hand. It’s open to a webpage, the name of some publication splayed across the upper half of the screen. 

He scrolls until he hits the first line of text; a date in the spring of 1972. 

It’s quiet as he reads and rereads the article. It’s three paragraphs in length, but he feels like he’s reading for hours. He feels like there’s something caught in his throat by the end of it. “What is this?” 

“Did you see the picture?” 

It’s a black and white photo pasted beneath the final block of text. A picture of a middle-aged woman and man, and a boy. They’re standing in front of a building, wearing the type of smile common among people who aren’t used to being photographed. It’s a grainy picture, but the boy is obviously him. 

It’s obviously Even, which doesn’t make sense. Even’s standing in front of him, and the boy in the article has been dead for more than 30 years. 

“What’s going on?” 

“I don’t know.” Even’s voice is quiet. “I don’t know how to explain something I don’t understand.” 

“Something you don’t understand?” Isak repeats, incredulous. “There’s blood in your fridge.” 

“It wouldn’t be there if I didn’t need it.” 

It’s like the most illogical puzzle ever, coming together piece-by-piece. The dreams, the way Even seems to always know what to do. The teeth that look like they’ve been chiseled to a point. 

Isak looks back at the phone, eyes searching the article for answers. Boy, aged 18, pronounced dead at the scene of an accident involving a bridge and tumultuous waters. 

“I told you at the party,” Even says. He’s picking at a loose thread on his sleeve, and Isak can see his fingers shake from across the kitchen. 

The article is only making Isak’s head ache, so he gives Even back his phone. “I thought it was a joke.” 

Even doesn’t refute it. Instead, he says, “I wanted you to know.” 

“You should’ve actually told me.” 

“Telling someone you’re a vampire isn’t exactly the best pickup line.” 

Isak wants to kick himself for what part of that sentence he chooses to focus on. “Pickup line?” 

It’s impossible, but Even looks _warm_. “I saw you on Halloween as soon as you showed up at the costume party with no costume.” 

“There were other people not wearing costumes.” Isak rolls his eyes, before realizing he might be able to find a fit for another puzzle piece. “You knew my name before I told you it.” 

“I can’t read your mind, if that’s what you’re asking.” Even looks earnest, his eyes wide. Isak remembers that night, remembers the stupid plastic fangs falling out of his mouth as he tried to talk. “I asked Sana.” 

“You know Sana?” 

Even nods. “She’s Elias’ sister,” he says. “She doesn’t know about me, though. Neither does he.” 

“Does anyone?” 

“Mikael’s the only one.” 

He’d been tagged in a few of Even’s pictures, so Isak easily puts a face to the name. That same guy who’d butted in on their conversation on the patio, a thin scarf that may or may not have been part of a costume wrapped around his neck. “He’s not anymore.” 

Even looks at him. He smiles, but it’s taut — like the smile he had on in the photo. “You can go if you still want to.” 

Isak’s anxiety has dwindled to the point of not making him want to get out of there as soon as possible, so Even’s words are less reassuring than they are upsetting. “Should I?” 

Even looks surprised. “You don’t have to,” he says. “It’s not dangerous or anything. I wouldn’t have ever brought you here if it was.” 

“Does it… hurt you? If I’m here?” 

Even shakes his head. “It’s not like that unless I’m starving.” He looks like he’s trying to find a way to put it into words; something he’s probably never had to do. “It’s like having something sweet around after you’ve eaten. You want it, but you know you don’t need it.” 

Isak’s not sure if it was intended as a compliment, but it makes him flush nonetheless. “Good,” he says. “I kind of wanted to stick around to hear about how you’ve managed to keep this hidden this from Sonja.” 

Even smiles again, and, this time, it doesn’t look like it hurts him quite so bad. 

 

☆

 

“Does this even get you high?” 

They’re on the ground in Even’s room, facing opposite directions. Isak’s head is beside Even’s hip, and he’s sucking back smoke from a joint Even had rolled as he explained that yes, he does sleep, and, no, the sunlight does not burn him. 

Even’s head is at Isak’s knees, hands folded on his chest. “Yeah.” 

“What?” Isak exhales, his tired mind trying to wrap itself around Even. “How would smoking affect you?” 

“I wasn’t talking about the weed.” 

Isak’s watches Even, feeling something inside him short-circuit. He’s playing with his own fingers, smiling at the ceiling. Before Isak can manage to sputter of any semblance of a response, Even laughs and says, “Sorry. I thought you’d be able to explain the science better than I could.” 

It was a joke. Still, Isak struggles to catch his breath. “There’s no way I could explain any of this.” 

The sun’s starting to rise, early morning light finding its way in through Even’s blinds. They’ve been talking for hours, and both of them are due for some sleep. 

Isak knows that he’d be out as soon he closed his eyes, but he wants to be awake. He wants to hear Even talk, fuelled by his own curiousity. And then there’s something else; something that has nothing to do with what happened tonight. 

He likes being with Even, regardless of what’s in his fridge. He likes it so much that he doesn’t know how to suppress what he’s feeling. It rises and rises until it’s seeps through the cracks in his skin and drips down his elbows onto his hands. 

It’s in his palms, and it makes him itch to reach out and see what Even’s skin feels like. 

He’s listening to Even’s stories of high school in the eighties when his phone buzzes in his back pocket. He squints at the screen. “It’s my mom.” 

“Do you have to go?” 

It almost sounds like Even’s disappointed, and Isak feels the itch grow. “I should.” 

It’s 6 in the morning in when Even snuffs out the joint and walks him the front door. 

They’re standing in the doorway, and the apartment is quiet. There’s no light entering the hall, and it takes a minute for Isak’s eyes to adjust. 

He can see the outline of Even as he leans against the wall beside the door and says, “Thanks for listening to all that shit.” 

“Thanks for not killing me.” 

Even laughs. “Anytime.” Isak can hear him breathe, the sharp intake of air and the way he exhales through his nose. “Seriously. It’s cool to talk to someone about it.” 

It had crossed Isak’s mind several times during the past few hours — the thought of how it must feel to have to hide from everyone. Even hadn’t mentioned anyone other than Mikael in all his stories. “Do you know anyone else who’s like you?” 

Even shakes his head. 

“That’s kind of lonely.” 

Maybe that’s why he’d picked Even out of a room full of people. Maybe he carried that loneliness in the way his smile fell sooner than anybody else’s, and in the way he looks like he's lost in his head when his friends aren't paying attention. 

He gets it. 

“I think you get it,” Even says. 

Isak’s nervous. There’s a pit forming in his stomach, and he’s spending more of his time looking at Even’s old socks than he is at Even’s face. “You can’t read my mind?” 

Even smiles again, his teeth glowing in the dark like the stars on ten-year-old Isak’s wall. “I can try.” 

He pushes himself off the wall so he’s standing closer to Isak, closes his eyes, and starts to rub his temples. 

Isak scoffs. “Am I going to owe you after this mind-reading?” 

Even opens his eyes. “Yes,” he says. There’s the ghost of a smile playing across his lips, and his eyes are shining. “Luckily for you, I accept many forms of currency.” 

Isak thinks he’s about to make some joke about sex work, and there’s a retort on the tip of his tongue. He only realizes how close Even is when he opens his mouth. 

He lowers his eyes until they’re locked on the ground. There’s a small hole forming in his own sock, and he can feel his heart race as he moves his foot so it’s a few centimetres shy of touching Even’s. 

Even must notice, because he closes the last of the distance. With his foot, and then Isak’s looking up and he can feel Even. 

It’s the itch, and it’s fanning across his jaw. He holds Even’s arm as he feels Even’s lips, as cold and dry and amazing as he’d thought. Even’s teeth feel even sharper than they look, pressing against the skin of Isak’s lower lip. 

Isak’s phone’s tethers him to the ground, buzzing relentlessly in his pocket. 

It eventually becomes too hard to ignore, and Isak pulls back. 

Even’s watching him with wide eyes, like he’d just stepped back into his body and had forgotten what it was like. “Okay?” 

It seems to be the word they’ve spoken most often to each other. “Okay.” 

Even tugs a hat over Isak’s head and gives him a jacket. He’s still wavering at the doorway, working on a text to send to his mom that will hopefully convince her not to call the police. 

Once it’s sent, he looks at Even. “Bye.” 

“Bye,” Even breathes, moving aside to open the door. “Message me after you get some sleep.” 

Isak smiles. “I’ll call.” 

It’s snowing when he leaves Even’s apartment, tiny flurries that stick wherever they land. In a futile effort to not let them dry out, he swipes a tongue over his lips as he walks. 

He tastes his own blood.


	2. i don't want to be, babe (but i'm gonna pretend for you)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's so much of it. There's skin, expanses of which Even can trail his hand along for hours. Inside, there are tissues. There are arteries working so hard that Even thinks he can hear them if he concentrates, and there are veins; those blue lines on the underside of Isak's wrists. 
> 
> Even doesn't remember what it feels like to have a reprieve from the dark, but he does remember the night he'd sat outside with Isak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> obligatory part two! just a couple thousand words of sweet, sad stuff. chapter title from alex g's "pretend".

It’s dark. 

It’s dark, but, when Even opens his eyes, he can _see_. He can see the ripple of waves in the moonlight, but there’s something else. If he looks close enough, he can see dozens of fish, sitting beneath the surface. They’re as clear to him now as they were when he was a child, swimming in a lake far away from the city in the summer. 

It isn’t summer. There’s snow soaking the underside of his legs, but it isn’t cold. 

There’s something wrong. 

His lungs are burning, engulfing his airways in a thick smoke that stops him from breathing. 

He’s on a river bank. He doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know anything other than that he needs to smother the fire in his throat before it kills him. 

The thought of drinking water makes the muscles in his throat seize, but he tries it anyway. 

He’s digging his fingers into the snow and coughing, stuck in a state somewhere between panic and acceptance. It’s killing him, he thinks. It’s killing him and he’s going to let it. 

He doesn’t realize he’s trying to convince himself there’s nothing he can do until he hears something. Someone. Or, more than one person. Their voices come from somewhere Even can’t see, which _must_ be far, because he can see so much. He can’t tell what they’re saying, but he doesn’t need to. The sound of them, of their footsteps, reaches a place in his brain he didn’t know existed. 

The fire grows, and he’s on his feet before he knows what he’s doing. 

 

☾

 

It’s a dream Even doesn’t realize he’s having until he’s awake, sitting up in bed with his hands stuck in his quilt. 

He’s sure he could have this dream a million times and nothing would change it. It. How he feels like he could climb into the deepest, darkest hole and peel his skin back. Sometimes, he’s not sure that would be enough to stop it. 

It. Or, maybe, it’s just him. 

He has the dream often. He always feels colder than usual when he wakes up, like the last ounce of humanity within him is bubbling beneath the skin of a monster, wondering why it has been damned to an eternity of this. 

This morning, it’s different. 

There’s a warmth blooming from his side, like his skin’s suddenly become sensitive to the sun that bleeds through his blinds. 

Not the sun, but it does lend a hand in illuminating the boy beside him. 

Isak’s face is placid when he sleeps. It’s not something that comes easy to him; Even can tell by the way he frowns when he first closes his eyes, like he’s performing some internal riddle that’ll grant him the ability to lose consciousness. 

But, when he sleeps, he’s calm. The sun seems to slip into his skin, making every inch of him glow with its light. The hair smattered across his arms is gold, a halo surrounds his head. His face is half smushed into his pillow, lips parted. They’re cracked from the cold, and Even reaches to soothe them with his thumb. 

He swipes it across Isak's lower lip as softly as he can. 

He thought he’d never find anything that would be able to muddle the impression of his reoccurring dreams, but, now, he’s watching Isak wake up. 

His eyelids move. He closes his mouth once, twice. Even can hardly remember what he’d been dreaming of. 

Isak inhales through his nose, his chest rising. He wraps his hand around Even’s wrist at the same time he opens his eyes. 

“Hello,” Even says. He doesn’t bother feigning ignorance. He isn’t about to miss the flush that appears on Isak’s cheeks when he realizes Even’s been watching him. 

Isak lets go of Even’s wrist, burying his face deeper into the pillow. “Hi.” 

“Are you warm enough?” Even places a hand on his cheek, as if he can’t tell how it feels just by looking. 

Isak nods into his hand. He’s quiet, and then he smiles. “I just thought about your hydro bill.” 

“ _Just_ thought about it?” Even runs his hand along Isak’s cheek until he’s cupping his chin. “You should start thinking about paying off your tab.” 

“My tab?” 

Even hums. “You already owe a couple thousand.” 

Isak looks moderately annoyed, but he continues to indulge Even. “Do you accept cash?” 

“Among other things.” 

Isak scoffs, turning away and pulling the quilt over his head. 

It’s been weeks. Late November, they’d spent the night on Even’s floor, talking about all the things Even works so hard to keep hidden. In turn, Isak inadvertently did the same. 

Even’s been damned to an eternity of being present, but not alive. He’s seen politicians rise and fall, watched small screens splaying images of some of his favorite artists shot dead on the streets. 

He’s told people before. He’s told people, but they’ve hardly ever believed him. 

Isak believed him — believed _in_ him. Even knew by the way he called the afternoon after he found out, just like he promised. The phone call was every bit as uncomfortable as it should’ve been, with stilted conversation and more laughter than was probably appropriate. Still, Even had never held his phone as tightly to his ear as he did when he was talking to Isak. 

He’s known Isak for weeks, but it feels like so much longer. 

“Are you hungry?” 

He’s asking what he’s always asked when Sonja stayed over, like he didn’t dread the thought of having to scarf down his own cooking in front of her. 

He hasn’t told Isak about that, but Isak peeks out from beneath the quilt like he knows. “Are you?” 

“I could go for something.” 

He can hear the smile in Isak’s voice when he says, “Me, too.” 

Even pushes himself up onto his knees, the mattress sinking under his weight. “Eggs?” 

“Okay.” 

“Okay.” Even presses a kiss to the skin behind Isak’s ear before getting out of bed. 

It isn’t something Even’s rehearsed. 

He doesn’t know what to do when he’s sitting across from Isak, watching him from over the brim of his mug. He hasn’t had a chance to figure out how often he needs to wipe his lip or where to look when he drinks. 

Isak knows what’s in the cup, but he doesn’t fuss over it. He eats his eggs, smiling at Even from across the table. 

Even swears he can feel his heart beating. 

 

☾

 

There’s more than just the breakfast arrangement that Even hasn’t figured out. 

The past few weeks, it’s been him and Isak. 

He’s spoken to Sonja. Once Isak had left his place the morning after he found out, he had asked her to meet him to do what he should’ve already done. 

It wasn’t everything he hoped for. Instead of patting him on the back when as he told her about Isak, she stared at him over a cup of black coffee like he was speaking a different language. 

It was the final nail in the coffin, how she’d assured him that he was only acting out on another one of his irrational impulses. He thought ending their relationship would be a weight off his chest, but he went home feeling angry. Angry at Sonja, at how well she thought she knew him. 

She didn’t know him. 

He paced around his apartment until Isak called, and it was only then that he realized he could breathe, that no one had their hands around his throat — not anymore. 

And other than his fleeting conversation with Sonja, it’s been him and Isak. Even knows that asking for more would be ridiculous when he already has so much. 

Isak’s so much. He’s enough to fill the margins of Even’s notebook. He's enough to make Even feel like he’s still alive. 

It’s been a long time since he felt like that. 

Still, Even finds himself swiping through pictures of Isak in his phone and wishing he didn’t have to keep them to himself. He wants to put them on his Instagram and watch the comments come in. He wants to tell Mikael and the others. 

Isak talks about his own friends, about how he makes up some bullshit when they ask why he’s late for school when he lazes around Even’s place in the morning. 

Isak doesn’t talk about his family other than the occasional snide comment about his dad. Even doesn’t ask. 

When Isak texts him about someone wanting to meet him after school, it comes as a welcome surprise. 

It’s December, and the world’s turned grey. There’s a bed of leaves sitting on top of yellowed grass. Even thinks he belongs in a world where the weather’s like this, surrounded by naked trees and plants that can’t flower. 

Isak walks towards him, his strides quick. At his feet, Even thinks he can see the grass coming alive. 

It takes Even a moment to realize he’s nervous, and it takes him another moment to realize why. There’s a boy with dark, curly hair a few paces behind him, and Even immediately knows who he is. 

They’re an obvious pairing, hoodies tied beneath their chins and bags slung over their shoulders. 

Isak’s told stories of Jonas smoking so much in elementary that he would hallucinate and showed him videos of Jonas dislocating his elbow and his finger in the same week, on the same arm. 

“Hey,” Isak says, stopping no less than a meter away from him. 

Even raises his eyebrows. “Hello.” He looks at Jonas, who has a lazy smile on his lips. He can see this guy in Isak’s stories. 

He introduces himself, and Jonas smile grows. “Jonas,” he says. 

“Was school good?” Even looks at Isak, who’s looking back at him with his head tilted down. His hair’s tucked into a hat, but little pieces stick out of the sides. Even puts his hands in his pockets so he doesn’t do something stupid like reach out and smooth them down. 

“Fine.” 

From behind him, Jonas says, “He’s been pissed off all day.” 

“I haven't,” Isak hisses, looking at his friend with narrowed eyes. 

Even laughs. “Why?” 

“He got one question wrong on the physics test this morning.” 

Isak looks between Jonas and Even. He’s trying not to smile, Even thinks, feeling himself thaw out. 

It’s the closest to being alive he can remember feeling, when he watches Isak navigate his way through introducing them. He’s not very good at it, bidding Jonas a curt goodbye after a few minutes of shit-talking, but Even’s so proud. So, he tells him. 

Not directly, but he doesn’t think he’s all too good at being subtle. “He seems cool,” he says, stepping closer to Isak. 

Isak looks at the ground. “He was being a dick.” 

“A cool dick, though.” 

Isak scoffs. “Can we go?” 

Even hopes Isak knows how much it means to him. He’d tell him if he thought Isak wanted to hear it, but they’re standing in a school courtyard and there’s a group of girls watching them from the front doors. All he can do is hope Isak hears it in his voice when he says, “We can.” 

It means so much to him. Isak, who makes the frozen ground come alive at his feet without realizing, means so much to him. 

 

☾

 

They’re walking after grabbing Isak something to eat. 

In the dark, Even can hear everything. The crunch of the leaves underneath their feet, the sound of Isak’s heart in his chest. 

It would usually make his mind race, listening the sound of someone’s heart as he walked down an otherwise quiet street, He’d be trying to count his steps as though to not walk in sync with the beat, like anyone would be able to tell if he was. 

Walking with Isak, he doesn’t do this. Instead of trying to distract himself from the number of beats, he counts them. 

One, two. He brushes his knuckles against Isak’s as they walk. Three, four. 

“Where are we going?” Isak asks. 

Even could go anywhere with Isak, but there’s one place in particular that he has in mind. “You’ll see.” 

Even thinks the only thing better than kissing Isak in the middle of the street is kissing him on the roof of his apartment building. 

He’s not cold anymore. 

He’s warm. He’s _melting_. 

It should be impossible. He doesn’t know how Isak manages to convince him that there’s anything at all flowing through his veins, but he thinks it might have something to do with the number of times Isak's heart beats in one minute. 

He listens to it for answers, inching his fingers along Isak’s side. It speeds up like it wants to tell him. Tell him why he feels like Isak can hear what he’s thinking, why that simultaneously scares him and makes him fall in love. 

He’s pressing his nose on the part of Isak’s neck where it’s loudest when Isak says, “It’s nice up here.” 

“You’re not cold?” 

“No.” Isak tilts his head back. “There’s a meteor shower soon.” 

“Really?” 

The moonlight makes Isak’s eyes shine. He blinks at the sky like he’s thinking deeply about something, and Even wonders if he could ever listen closely enough to his heart to figure out what it is. “It’ll probably peak some time next week.” 

“Peak, huh?” 

Isak puts his hands over his face, groaning. “Shut up.” 

“We should watch it.” 

Through Isak’s fingers, there’s a smile that threatens to play on his lips. Even thinks it’s so sweet. 

“If it’s clear.” Isak’s voice is quiet. 

“It’ll be clear.” 

“How do you know?” 

Even doesn’t know how he knows. He just knows that he _does_ , and Isak would scoff at that. 

Instead of speaking, he kisses Isak. 

 

☾

 

The Geminids meteor shower. 

The fact that Isak knows about it is enough to make Even grin like an idiot at his computer screen in the dark. 

Isak had left his place hours ago, and he’s been scrolling through pictures of the meteors from previous years since. It’s late, and he knows he shouldn’t text Isak. He isn’t going to, but then the blue orbs flying across his screen tell him how important it is that he does. 

 

Even, 1:43  
_It’ll be clear because we'll be watching_

 

☾

 

“He’s not listening.” 

Even doesn’t know who Adam’s talking about until someone flicks his ear. He turns to see Elias looking at him, eyebrows raised. He looks around the table at the other boys, who’re all staring at him with varying degrees of the same expression. 

“What?” he says. 

“Oh, what the fuck?” It’s Elias who leans back in his chair, incredulous. 

Adam snorts. “Didn’t I just say?” 

“What is it?” Even laughs, drumming his pen against his notebook. 

The canteen’s bustling around them, but Even tries his best to tune out the sounds coming from anywhere other than the table they’re sitting at. He hears Mikael laughing under his breath beside him, scratching something on a piece of paper. 

“Should we even tell him?” 

“What is it?” Even repeats. 

They manage to shut up for a full ten seconds before Mikael says, “He probably doesn’t care.” 

“Care about what?” 

“There’s a thing on Friday.” Mikael tucks his head into his arm when Elias tries to hit him. 

Even turns his attention back to his doodles. “Isn’t there always a thing on Friday?” 

“See?” Mikael hisses, still shielding his head. 

Elias starts to say something and then stops. The other boys get quiet, too. “What’s up with that?” 

Even looks up. The boys are looking somewhere across the canteen, and he follows their eyes. It isn’t hard to find what they’re staring at, because it’s staring right back at them. Sonja’s sitting at a full table, and she’s not being discreet. 

“Trouble in paradise?” Elias asks. 

Even looks back down at his paper. In the corner, a miniature Isak and Even are drinking beers on a park bench. “We aren’t together anymore.” 

Even might not be a mind-reader, but the change in mood palpable. Elias clears his throat and says, “You’re on a break?” 

“Not a break.” Even reaches into his bag for his thermos. “It’s for good this time.” 

Mikael leans closer to him. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah… it’s cool. She’s pissed about it right now, but she’ll get over it.” He looks at his friends, trying to convey his nonchalance about the whole thing without gushing about Isak. 

No one says anything for a minute, and then Elias sighs. “Shit.” He rocks his chair back and forth, and the mood returns to normal. “This thing on Friday has to be amazing now. And you _have_ to come, man.” 

“I might.” He smiles and then looks at Mikael. 

Mikael’s looking at his drawing. 

Even knows it’s unlikely he has any idea what he’s looking at, but he still rests his arm over his book. 

When Mikael looks at him inquisitively, he looks away. 

 

☾

 

Even brings up the party over dinner the following night. 

He’s getting better at cooking. Not that he was bad at it, after years of preparing food for him and Sonja. 

It’s more enjoyable to cook when he knows that he won’t have to pretend to enjoy it. Without that clouding his judgement, he figures out what Isak likes and spends hours in the kitchen. He gauges everything with smell, which he thinks has saved him a few times from embarrassing himself in front of Isak with some bad soup or rotten fish. 

Tonight, he’s making pasta. There’s homemade sauce bubbling on the stove, chalked full of the fresh tomatoes and herbs that he’d breathed in as soon as he walked into the grocery store. 

“We don’t have to go,” he says, watching over Isak’s shoulder as he writes out his homework. 

Isak didn’t seem immediately keen on the idea of going somewhere with Even and his friends, but it doesn’t take him long to warm up to it. “I’m not doing anything on Friday.” He shrugs, staring at the problem in front of him. 

Even stoops down to kiss Isak’s neck. “Join me, then,” he says. “Bring Jonas.” 

“I’m trying to work.” 

Even can’t wipe the smile off his face as he backs away. “Sorry.” He turns around to stir the sauce. 

Within the next minute, Isak has closed his book. “I’ll just do it later.” He’s frowning at Even from the table, and Even doesn’t know why he’s so endeared. 

Even crosses the space between him and Isak in one, two, three, four steps. “You should do it now.” 

“I can’t.” Isak tucks his chin into his chest when Even kisses his head. 

“Why?” 

Even knows Isak won’t say it. Maybe, one day, he will. But, today, it takes so long for the tension to seep from his shoulders, and he looks at Even like he expects him to leave. 

“Come taste the sauce.” Even drags his teeth over the shell of Isak’s ear, and Isak laughs and pushes him away. 

 

☾

 

It’s a loud party — loud enough that the police will probably be called soon. 

Even isn’t a fan of parties like this. It might be because he’s just really, _really_ old, but he’d rather watch movies with the boys than stand around at someone’s house with a relentless beat rattling the windows. 

He’s doing it right now. Standing, idly bobbing his head to the music. 

Elias is trying to get Yousef to talk to some girl who’s been staring at him from across the room. He’s half-watching them, half-watching his phone. 

Isak texted him ten minutes ago to let him how fucking cold it was outside. 

It’s not that bad, baby, he’d responded. He could practically _feel_ Isak rolling his eyes at him. 

He hasn’t been gifted with mind-reading or the ability to transform into any kind of winged creature, but he gets these feelings. He looks at the time Isak sent his last message and the time now and then subtracts the two. He adds the number of days until the peak of the meteor shower and then divides it by Isak’s age in years. 

He gets these feelings, but something tells him that’s not all they are. 

Isak’s walking into the room when he looks up. 

His hair looks like it’s been swept around by the wind, and Even can tell his cheeks are stained pink from where he’s standing. Even squeezes his flask. Isak’s the same boy from the Halloween party, albeit not as angry, with Jonas trailing shortly behind him. 

Even counts the seconds it takes Isak to find him. When their eyes meet, Even knows for certain. He’s figured it out. 

The good thing about the music being deafening is that Isak has to stand close for Even to hear him when he says, “A flask?” 

Even shakes the silver flask in his hand. “Want some?” 

“I think I’ll pass.” 

“You don’t know what you’re missing.” 

Isak smiles. “I think I do, though.” 

Even purses his lips. “That can’t be right,” he says. “If that were right, I’d have to kill you.” 

“Oh?” Isak scoffs, looking up at him. His pupils are so wide Even can hardly see the green. 

Even doesn’t know what he’d been about to say when Elias interrupts him, but he knows he’d been about to say _something_. His mouth is open and he’s staring at Isak like he can’t believe he’s real, and Elias is saying, “Even.” 

Elias is standing beside him with Mikael. Yousef’s gone, probably making some poor attempt to flirt with the girl across the room. Even doesn’t think Yousef likes these parties either. 

“This is Isak.” 

“Elias,” Elias says. His eyes flicker from Isak to Even. “Can I have some of that?” 

It takes Even a second to realize he’s talking about about the flask in his hand. There isn’t much left, and he downs the last of it easily. “Some of what?” he says, wiping his mouth. 

“Fuck you.” Elias laughs. “Have you seen Isabelle tonight?” 

Even shakes his head, prompting Elias to groan and launch into a story about how he’s _sure_ she’d been looking at him earlier. While he does this, Mikael introduces himself to Isak. 

“I haven’t seen you around,” Mikael says. 

Even sees Isak shifting his weight out of his peripheral vision. “I go to Nissen.” 

“Second year?” 

“First,” Isak says. 

Mikael looks impressed. “This is much better than the parties we’d go to in first year.” 

“It’s cool.” Isak doesn’t say how he’d found out about it, but Even thinks that’s better than telling some outright lie about a make-believe Facebook page. “Did you want a beer or anything?” 

Mikael shakes his head, and Elias somehow hears Isak ask through the sound of his own droning. “Yes, please,” he says. 

Even meets Isak’s eyes, smiling. “I think he’s had enough.” He slaps Elias on the back. 

“I haven’t had any!” 

It could’ve went worse, Even thinks as Isak escapes to the kitchen and Elias hobbles off. 

He’s watching the spot he’d last seen Isak when Mikael asks, “Do you know him?” 

It’s not that Even doesn’t trust Mikael. Mikael knows about the worst parts of him, and he still manages to make Even feel safe. Even trusts him. 

Even trusts Isak, too. “We met at a party a little while ago.” It’s not untrue. 

Mikael looks like he’s about to say something else, but then his eyes fixate on something over Even’s shoulder and he clamps his jaw shut. He opens it after a moment and says, “What is he doing?” 

No more than three meters behind him, Elias looks he’s trying not to pass out in front of two girls. He’s supporting himself on the arm of a chair that some confused looking guy is sitting in, yammering on about something Even makes an effort not to hear. “It’s hard to say.” 

“I better go get him,” Mikael says. 

“Good luck.” 

He knows what’ll happen when Mikael intervenes, so he doesn’t stick around to watch. 

He finds himself at the entrance of the kitchen. It’s crowded, but it doesn’t take long to find Isak. Of course it doesn’t. 

Isak’s opening a bottle next to the fridge. 

If Even listens, he hears the sound of the glass against Isak’s teeth as he drinks. He hasn’t seen Even yet, and Even’s trying to come up with some grand way to make his presence known when someone walks into his shoulder. 

It isn’t an accident. Sonja’s looking at him, deep creases etched onto her forehead and eyes watery. It makes him guilty for a moment that he could’ve caused her to hurt so much, but then she says, “What’re you doing?” 

She’s angry. She’s sad, too, but she’s mostly angry. “Hey,” he says, stepping away from her. 

She ignores him. “Is that him?” 

Even looks at Isak before he realizes it’s probably a mistake. He doesn’t say anything. 

“You don’t even know what you’re doing.” Sonja’s voice is high like it gets before she cries. “You’re using him. How can’t you see that?” 

Sonja thinks she can chalk up everything he does that she doesn’t like as a symptom. He wishes he could tell her that she can’t do that; that Isak isn’t a symptom. That he’s _so_ much and that he’s standing close and Even doesn’t know what he’d do if he heard any of this. 

“I don’t know what you’re saying," he says. 

“I think you should go home.” 

Even’s been listening to her for too long. She isn’t his babysitter. She isn’t his girlfriend, either. “I don’t want to talk about this.” 

“Why?” Sonja laughs. “You don’t want to hear the truth?” 

Before he can answer her, she continues. “You’re going to hurt yourself. You’re going to hurt him, too.” She wipes her face. “You already hurt me.” 

Even didn’t mean to hurt anyone. He thinks the music’s risen several octaves, and he feels the walls vibrate with it. “Sorry,” he says. 

Sonja doesn’t look she heard him. “It’s fucked up, Even. It’s fucked up and selfish.” She turns away from him. “You’re being selfish.” 

He’s being selfish. 

She leaves, dragging the heels of her boots on the ground. Her words stay, claw back his skin and find their way to the deepest layer. 

He watches the floorboards, counting the lines that separate them. He’s looking for something to hold onto, but he doesn’t think he’ll find it before he falls. He sees the fall already. He sees over the edge — the black water pulling him in like a hole in space. He’d be alone if he jumped, but he doesn’t know if that’s what he wants. 

He doesn’t think it is. 

“Even?” 

He looks at Isak, and he doesn’t think it is. “Yeah?” 

Isak’s looking at him like he doesn’t know what to do, wavering in front of him with a beer. “Are you okay?” 

Sonja’s words are wrapping themselves around Even’s empty veins. “I’m good,” he says. “It’s loud in here.” 

“You already want to leave?” 

Even smiles. “I _am_ an old man.” 

“You must be.” 

Even eyes the beer in Isak’s hand. “Where’s Jonas?” 

Isak shrugs, taking a drink. His lips are shining with alcohol when he says, “He’s probably calling his girlfriend in the bathroom or something… or, he could be gone by now. I haven’t seen him since we got in.” 

There is so much of Isak’s life that Even doesn’t know. He wonders how it is that he can feel Isak when they’re in the same room when they’ve known each other for less than two months. “What day were you born?” he asks. 

Isak laughs under his breath. “Are you drunk?” 

“I can’t get drunk.” 

“You can get high, though.” 

“Drinking makes me sick.” Even’s still looking for something to hold onto. “What day were you born?” 

Isak narrows his eyes. “June twenty-first.” 

Even already figured it out. Still, hearing Isak say it makes him feel like there’s heat crawling up his neck. If he had blood, he thinks it would be molten. “Let’s go.” 

“Where?” 

“Anywhere.” 

He bikes fast down the street. He thinks he could pedal forever, so long as it would get him farther away from everyone he thinks he knows. He thought he knew Sonja, but he isn’t sure anymore. As overbearing as she’d been, she’d never treated him like the monster he was. Tonight, that changed. 

He thinks he knows his friends, but they don’t know him. If they did, they’d probably hate him like Sonja hates him. 

He knows Isak. 

Isak’s on the back of his bike, his breath fanning out across Even’s neck. Even’s sure he knows him. 

Even stops at an empty park. There’s snow on the grass that soaks through his shoes as he pulls Isak toward a jungle gym that’s been sectioned off with tape. 

“What’re we doing here?” Isak asks. 

“I've been wondering the same thing.” 

Isak sucks in a sharp breath. “Funny,” he says. “What’re we doing in the park?” 

Isak’s annoyed, but he still latches onto Even when Even reaches for him. “Are you cold?” 

“Yeah, I’m cold.” 

Even unzips his jacket and drapes it over Isak’s shoulders. Isak tries to make him put it back on, but Even can see him shaking. 

“I don’t feel it,” Even assures him, stepping over the tape. 

He heaves himself up onto one the lower bars, and Isak asks, “What do you feel?” 

Everything or nothing. It’s like a speaker that’s either playing on maximum volume or off entirely. Since the end of October, it’s been so loud that the sound’s coming out distorted. It’s like someone has their finger on the notch that controls the volume, forcing it to stay on full blast. 

Even sits on the bar, wrapping his hands around it until his fingers touch. “I feel warmth.” 

“Like, from the sun?” 

“Warmth from the sun.” Even nods. “I feel it now, too.” 

Isak’s incredulous. “Now?” 

Even’s searching Isak’s face for something that tells him he feels the same way, even if he refuses to acknowledge it. He doesn’t know what to say, so he tries for honesty. “I’ve never felt anything like this before.” 

Even watches Isak’s face shift in the slightest of ways. The crease between his brow softens, and he parts his lips. He’s quiet, and then he says, “Neither have I.” 

They don’t do anything for awhile. They watch each other, not speaking. It’s starting to snow, and Isak’s nose is a deep red. Even’s brought them all the way to some empty park, and it’s going to take at least twenty minutes to bike back to his place. 

None of it matters. 

Even pushes himself off the jungle gym and joins Isak on the wet sand. He rests his forehead against Isak’s, and he wonders how Isak’s skin would feel if there was blood beneath his own. “We can go to my place if you want,” he says. “I bought stuff to make hot cocoa.” 

Isak looks like he’s out of breath. “Better than coffee.” 

Even kisses Isak under a dark and cloudy sky, and it feels right. 

 

☾

 

The boys give him shit for leaving the party so early. It’s mostly Elias, yelling after school when their group makes the trek to Even’s place about how Even _just_ missed him hooking up with some chick. 

The other boys look like they’re trying not to laugh, and Mikael pats Elias on the back. “You keep telling yourself that’s what happened,” he says. 

Elias is bewildered. “Isn’t that what happened, though?” 

Even tries to convey sympathy through his smile. He doesn’t tell them why he left early. 

 

☾

 

In the days before the meteor shower, Isak texts him sporadically about the forecast. 

Even doesn’t tell him, but he melts every time he looks down at screenshots of the weather for the rest of the week. It’s getting so cold, Isak says, but he’s all he’s really trying to do is remind Even of the meteor shower. 

As if he could forget. 

Still, Even plays the part. He asks Isak what he’s doing after school on Tuesday, and Isak says he’s free. 

While the hot cocoa is simmering on the stove, Isak sits on the counter. Even stands between his legs, tracing the lines on his palm. 

“Reading palms doesn’t make up for not being able to read minds,” Isak says. 

“Oh.” Even laughs. “I’ve been practicing for nothing, then?” 

Isak shrugs. “I’m sure there’s someone out there who’ll be impressed.” 

Even smiles, and he thinks about telling Isak he was counting the lines on his palm to see if the number equals the amount of falling stars they’ll see tonight. He decides against it, raising his eyebrows and saying, “Who else would I want to impress?” 

It gets dark while they play FIFA. Isak sips his cocoa and then complains that Even has an unfair advantage. 

After a few matches, the screen’s black and Isak’s cup is cold, sitting on the floor. Isak peels back the curtains to look at the sky. “It’s clear out,” he says. 

“Of course it is.” Even comes out of his room with the thickest socks he could find in his drawer. 

Isak turns around. “What’re those?” 

“Socks.” Even hands them to Isak. 

“What do you want me to do with them?” 

“Wear them.” 

Isak looks surprised, holding Even’s socks loosely. His eyes gleam in the orange light shining from the lamp beside the sofa, and Even can’t believe he thought anyone would be able to forget about him. 

They wind up on the top of the building, in the same spot as before. 

Even’s been here so much that he feels at home, sitting on the cold pavement. He’d look at the sky through clouds of smoke, wondering how to escape. He’d stand, too. Some times, he’d be so close to the edge that he couldn't help but wonder _if_ he could escape. It was curiousity, but it was also desperation. His skin felt too tight for his body. 

Isak’s the only person he’s brought up here. 

Even watches him get binoculars out of his bag, and tonight, his skin doesn’t feel like it’s suffocating him. “I don't remember what it's like to have bad vision.” 

“Bad vision,” Isak scoffs, adjusting the lens. “It takes the light from some of these stars billions of years to get here. You can’t defy the nature of light no matter how well you can see.” 

Even smiles, knocking his shoulder against Isak’s. “I’ll take your word for it.” 

Isak looks through the binoculars before passing them over. 

Head tilted to the sky, Even looks through them. There’s so much to see that Even doesn’t know what to focus on. It’s a blur of light, peppered across a dark backdrop that has something threaded through it. 

Like a quilt, he thinks. Layers upon layers of fabric, all peeking through one another. 

“You have to look southwest to see any meteors,” Isak says. 

It doesn’t happen immediately. He passes the binoculars back to Isak after awhile and leans back on his elbows. “Are you sure it’s southwest?” 

Isak doesn’t answer, licking his lips as he watches the sky. 

Even thinks the meteor shower is a good excuse to openly stare at Isak. Meteors or no meteors, Isak’s focused on surveying the sky Even’s isn’t about to let the opportunity go to waste, marvelling over the way the white light from the moon makes Isak’s skin looks like it’s just as pale as his own. 

He’s content, and then Isak says, “I see something.” 

Even looks up. 

It’s nothing like seeing it on a computer screen. It’s farther away, but somehow so much more clear. 

“Watch this constellation,” Isak tells him. 

Even watches the collection of stars Isak points to for a long time before he sees another, seeming to appear from an expanse of dark sky between the points of light. It shoots across the horizon, and Even’s eyes follow it. 

When it disappears, he turns to Isak. He feels the same as he did on Halloween, when he spotted an angry-looking boy from across the room, his cap sitting backwards on his head. He found something in a sea of nothing; a ball of fire, moving in ways he wasn’t familiar. 

Isak smiles at him as though he’s unaware that he’s just shifted the earth’s rotation. It’s back up to speed, and Even feels like he could be human. 

He doesn’t know how to describe what he’s feeling, or if he should even try, so he just says, “That was cool.” 

“You think so?” Isak’s voice is soft, and Even can tell he’s so pleased that Even likes this. 

Even nods. 

Isak passes him the binoculars, and they lapse back into a comfortable silence. 

He’s looking through the binoculars at a sky full of light when Isak asks, “Do you remember anything?” 

Even knows what he’s asking before he elaborates, and it catches him off guard. It’s the first time Isak’s asked about it since that night in his room. “Not much.” 

“Not much?” 

Even lowers the binoculars. “Nothing I can really explain,” he clarifies. “The more time that goes on, the less I remember. I wouldn’t even call them memories anymore. They’re just feelings I get when I watch a movie or hear a song.” 

Isak looks unsure, playing with his shoelaces. “You don’t remember how you came back?” 

Or how he died? 

“No,” he says, to both questions. “I think I know, though.” 

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want.” 

Even spins the binocular strap around his finger, imagining how it would’ve looked hanging from Isak’s neck as he snuck out of his house to watch the sky. “Another time,” he says. 

Isak seems satisfied with this answer. He looks back at the sky and says, “Do you ever think about what’s out there?” 

“In space?” 

“No.” Isak furrows his eyebrows like he does when he’s concentrating on something. “About all the other universes that could be out there.” 

Even watches him. “You think there are?” 

Isak shrugs. “There could be. It would be hard to prove that there _wasn’t_ ,” he says. “You never think about that?” 

Even thinks about a lot. Right now, he’s thinking about how he only met Isak forty-eight days ago, but feels like he’s never known anyone quite so well. 

“I do.” He puts the binoculars down. “I don’t like to, though. There’s enough going on in here.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Like, in my own head.” 

Isak’s watching him, his breath turning into smoke in the space between them. “Oh.” 

Even reaches out to zip Isak’s jacket up all the way to his chin. “You’re too young to get it.” 

“What?” Isak screws up his face. 

His nose is red. Even kisses it and watches Isak’s eyes soften. 

It’s better than any meteor, Even thinks. 

They leave when Even notices that Isak’s shaking from the cold. Isak admits he’s fucking freezing and grabs his hand. He doesn’t let it go, even when they’re walking down the street. 

Neither of them say where they’re going, but they both know. 

Isak’s skin is cold. 

Even can tell, hands around Isak’s wrists. He tries to commit the feeling of Isak’s pulse beneath his fingers to memory for the next time he feels like he can’t breathe. 

In his bed, he buries them in blankets. He pulls them over his own head and finds Isak under the sheets. He’s still shivering, but Even doesn’t think it’s from the cold. 

He feels Isak’s temperature slowly rise. The blood returns to the pads of his fingers, and Even kisses each one of them. 

With their legs intertwined, Even thinks he could confuse the warmth in Isak’s legs as his own. He tells Isak this; tells him about what he’s feeling. He’s feeling so much, and his ears ring like he can hear his own blood. He knows that it’s Isak’s, not his, but they’re so close he can pretend. 

Isak’s eyes are glassy, and he can’t seem to string together a sentence. 

Even tries to tell him it’s okay that he doesn’t say anything, that he understands. He doesn’t actually say it, but he hopes Isak knows what he’s thinking by how softly he kisses his eyelids. 

Much later, when they’re somewhere between consciousness and sleep, Even asks, “Do they know where you are?” 

“Who?” 

Even traces patterns on Isak’s back, watching the ceiling. “Your parents.” 

Isak doesn’t answer immediately. He’s quiet, and Even continues to paint landscapes of suns and trees. Eventually, Isak says, “I doubt they notice I’m not there.” 

His voice is muffled by Even’s chest, but Even can tell he’s hurt. Maybe it’s not so much the sound of his voice as it as a feeling he gets, cradling his palm against Isak’s back. “Why?” 

“They’ve been busy.” 

Isak doesn’t elaborate. His breathing’s stilted, and it’s clear he doesn’t want to talk about it. 

Quiet washes over them. Even doesn’t force it away with anything he could say to try and make things better. He knows how it feels like to want to leave your body behind for the sake of not having to answer people’s questions. He runs his fingers down Isak’s back, letting the silence wrap around them until he feels Isak’s breathing become deeper and more shallow. It’s only then that Isak says, “I think my dad’s going to leave.” 

It catches Even off guard, mostly because Isak’s pulse remains steady. He must’ve thought about this a lot before he decided to bring it up. “Why do you think that?” 

“They argue every night.” Isak sighs into his chest. “Neither of them are ever right. My dad’s has to get drunk to deal with my mom, and my mom’s crazy.” 

“Crazy?” 

Isak hums. “It’s like she has no idea what’s going on anymore. She freaked when I came home from school, asking where I’d been all day,” he says. “She’s just getting worse, too. My dad’s going to leave her.” 

There’s nothing in Even’s chest that works, but Even swears he feels his heart squeezing. Before he can say anything, Isak adds, “I don’t blame him.” 

“No?” Even asks weakly. 

“No. Trying to help someone like that makes you go crazy yourself.” Isak nestles closer to Even, but he’s already as close as he can get. He’s already under Even’s skin. He’s already behind Even’s eyelids when he squeezes his eyes shut to see if he’s dreaming. 

He’s not. 

Even thought he figured it out. He thought he had proof in his numbers, but he can’t remember what they are. 

He goes back to stroking Isak’s back. When Isak tilts his head up for a kiss, he complies. 

He doesn’t want it to end, but Isak’s falling asleep. He kisses Isak’s head when it drops onto his chest like he can’t keep it up any longer, 

Before the sun rises, he leaves. 

 

☾

 

Isak texts him. 

Reading the messages makes him feel like there’s something heavy weighing on his chest. He finds Isak’s insecurity in the gaps between messages; how he waits hours to ask Even when he’s coming back and if he has keys on him. It isn’t the words themselves. 

It’s the image of Isak with his phone in his hands, trying to compose a message that’ll make him sound like he doesn’t care. 

He cares so much. 

Even’s never met anyone who cares as much as Isak. He’s never met anyone who’s pretended to _not_ care so much. 

He doesn’t think Isak puts on a facade for other people as much as he puts one on for himself. He’s watched Isak sleep, how he seems to teeter on the edge of consciousness as if he’s scared of falling. He’s counted eyelashes and the freckles smattered across Isak’s back, but Isak is still awake when there are no numbers left. 

It’s not enough. Even’s knows that it’s not enough, that _he’s_ not enough. 

He can’t think of anything he wouldn’t do to be enough. He’d scratch his skin until there’s blood under his fingernails if he could. He’d stroll to the nearest bridge if he thought jumping into the water would make him fill the space of his own body. 

He’s empty, and there’s nothing that could change that. No amount of blood, no amount of missed calls. 

He doesn’t answer anyone. Isak leaves a voice message he listens to a hundred times without returning the call, and Mikael won’t stop asking how he’s doing. 

There’s himself, too; hiding himself away in the dark, trying to forget the world. He can’t seem to do anything other than hurt people. 

 

☾

 

Sonja’s right. He’s selfish. 

When he’s alone at night, blinds shut and lights off, he thinks of the people he’s hurt. Maybe he can’t help it, the pain he inflicts on people an inevitable side effect of this curse. Of _these_ curses. 

He’s been so selfish, dragging Isak into this mess. 

He remembers Halloween, how he’d been planning to cop out of the party at the last minute with some bad excuse his friends would see right through. He was pacing in the kitchen when Mikael texted him to ask what he was dressing up as. 

It would’ve been the perfect time to tell him that he wouldn’t be dressing up tonight, that he was too tired. He’s not sure what kept him from doing so, only that there was something about going to the party that made him nervous. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt nervous, always having assumed that some portion of his brain had been damaged when he came back. 

But, on Halloween, it felt like his skin was moving. He told Mikael he was going as himself. 

He shouldn’t have gone. He should’ve stayed home, buried beneath his covers in the only place he couldn’t hurt people. 

Isak doesn’t deserve to be hurt. He deserves the moon. He deserves the stars — the ones he can point out in the sky as part of a constellation. 

It’d be better if Even left before he had the chance to fuck with Isak’s life any more than he already has. He knows it’d be better, but the thought of going away now is paralyzing. 

He’s selfish. 

As if to emphasize this, Isak’s name lights up his screen. He’s calling. 

Even counts to ten before he answers. 

It’s quiet. When his phone speaker doesn’t allow for him to hear Isak’s pulse, he can pretend he’s normal. 

“Even?” 

Even closes his eyes to shut out the details of his dark room. “Hi.” 

“Are you okay?” Isak’s concerned. 

Out of everyone to be concerned for and everything to be concerned about, Isak’s concerned after not having spoken to him for a few days. Even knows there’s something to it. There’s something to the nerves that come alive beneath his skin when Isak’s close, to the way Isak seems to feel in the same way as him. 

He doesn’t answer, and Isak asks, “Where are you?” 

If he didn’t tell Isak, he’d be doing him a favor. If he lied, he’d be doing him a favor; if he told him him he’d seen Sonja and changed his mind, he’d be doing him a favor. “Home.” 

Isak exhales, like he’s relieved Even’s told him. Even can’t bring himself to regret it. “I’ll be there soon.” 

It’s still dark in his apartment when Isak knocks. When he walks past the thermostat, it’s several degrees colder than what he knows is comfortable. He’s being selfish. 

He opens the door to Isak’s cheeks stained red and Even’s hat on his head. 

If he belongs in a world where the sun’s rays don’t permeate the atmosphere, Isak belongs in a world of full bloom. He’s more alive than most, watching Even from across the threshold like he’s waiting to be invited in. 

“I think it’s supposed to be the other way around,” Even says. 

Isak furrows his eyebrows. “What?” 

Even steps back. He shakes his head, opens his mouth to respond. Before he can, Isak’s kissing him. 

Isak’s arms are winded around his neck, hands clasped behind him. 

It’s been a week, but Even’s muscle memory acts in spite of how mind-numbingly long it takes him to realize what’s happening. He puts his hand on the back of Isak’s neck, fingers dipping below his collar. 

His skin’s warm. Even can feel the blood beneath the surface, carrying within it all the things that make Isak alive. 

There’s so much of it. There’s skin, expanses of which Even can trail his hand along for hours. Inside, there are tissues. There are arteries working so hard that Even thinks he can hear them if he concentrates, and there are veins; those blue lines on the underside of Isak’s wrists. 

Even doesn’t remember what it feels like to have a reprieve from the dark, but he does remember the night he’d sat outside with Isak. 

He could watch the sky for as long as he pleased, but it would never reveal a thing to him. 

Isak knew just how to coax its secrets out into the open; where to look to identify a star that could change their reality in an instant if it were to die. There’s so much dark, but Even saw something else when he looked through Isak’s binoculars. 

In bed, Even rests his hand on Isak’s hip bone. 

“Does this happen in another universe?” he asks. 

Isak’s skin is just as red and his hair is just as messy as it was when he got in. He looks considerably more tired, his eyelids drooping. “In infinite universes.” 

“What’s different?” 

Isak hums, like he’s thinking about it. “Everything... or it could be something so little you wouldn’t notice.” He smiles. “Maybe one of the Evens has a fridge full of mustard instead of blood.” 

It’s only a joke, but Even can’t help himself. “Sorry.” 

Isak’s smile falls. “What’re you sorry for?” 

Everything. Or, maybe, something so little Isak wouldn’t notice. Instead of answering, he says, “I haven’t seen you this week.” 

“What’s been going on?” 

Even wonders if it would hurt just the same to have Isak leave him as it would to leave Isak. “I talked to Sonja,” he says. “She’s been calling, texting… I haven’t been answering. I didn’t know she would be at that party on Friday.” 

Isak sits up. Even’s hand falls from his hip, and he’s cold again. “I thought you already talked to her.” 

“I did.” He doesn’t want Isak to think he’s lying, even if he is. He doesn’t want to give Isak something else to keep him awake at night. 

There’s a glassy quality to Isak’s eyes in the dark. They’re trained on his hands in his lap like he knows what’s coming. 

Even looks at the ceiling. “I don’t think it’s good for you to be around here so much.” 

“Why?” 

“You should be spending time with your friends. With people.” 

Isak sinks back into his pillow, but Even tries not to look at him. He’s too weak, too _selfish_ to look at him. “You’re a person.” 

“There’s a lot of shit wrong with me.” 

Isak presses his palm against Even’s cheek, undoubtedly feeling the cold that Even tries to stave off with layers of fabric. “That shit doesn’t matter.” His voice isn’t steady, but he continues to speak. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be. All that matters right now is if _you_ want me to be.” 

What Even wants shouldn’t be what Isak uses as a barometer to dictate what he does. He should tell Isak the one lie that would make everything better. He should tell him that he wants him to leave. 

He should, but he’s selfish. 

Isak kisses his jaw when he doesn’t say anything. “Tell me to go.” 

Even remembers Halloween; how Isak had hardly been able to look him in the eyes. He carried his youth in his shoulders, how they sulked when he waited for the joint to be passed to him. 

Even realizes how lucky he’s been, getting to watch Isak wake each morning. He’s different than he was on Halloween, tired eyes boring into Even’s and shoulders straight. 

He’ll be different in the morning than he is today. Even doesn’t want to miss it. 

“No,” Even says. 

It isn’t enough. He can tell it isn’t enough by the way Isak worries his lower lip. 

They can talk tomorrow, when they’re both different people. For now, he’ll hold Isak’s hand. He’ll count the notches of Isak’s spine with his lips and find the femoral artery that runs through Isak's thigh. 

Outside, it snows, but Even’s never been quite as warm as he is now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is this the end? i'd feel bad not redeeming sonja from her villain status. epilogue, maybe?


End file.
